by Jillian Hart
Libby glanced across the wide dusty street. A blondhaired, handsome man sat with his feet crossed at the ankles, his black hat sitting beside him on the bench.
Her heart twisted. She hadn’t wanted any man—that wasn’t why she’d answered an advertisement, why she’d left everything behind to travel here. She wanted Jacob.
“Don’t worry about me, Leah.” Libby lifted her sunbonnet from the peg by the back door.
“Honey, I have to worry about a woman with all those single men on the loose.” With a rustle of navy skirts, the hotel proprietor opened the door. “Look. Those darn pickets are back, protesting the dance hall.”
“Maybe all that picketing will distract the men and I can escape,” Libby joked. Soon enough, her belly would grow so not even her full apron could hide it. Then she’d lay money on the table that every eligible bachelor in town offering to walk her home now would be running for the high hills.
There was only one man she wanted. He ran, too. No, not ran. He had to keep Emma’s interest foremost. And the grief bruising his heart touched her from the first moment they’d spoken. He didn’t want a family, he didn’t want love.
She said goodbye to Leah and wove through the hotel. With the reverend’s protesting outside, she could slip unnoticed down the front steps and weave among the picketers, maybe avoiding the overly interested bachelors waiting for her.
There were so few single women in town, besides the dancing girls, even she had become popular.
“Miss Hodges?” A freshly shaven man stepped out of the chanting crowd. “I would like the honor of walking you home.”
A cooling autumn breeze shivered down from the mountains, dissipating the day’s heat, catching the ruffled hem of her apron. The feed store man. He looked kind, substantial. But he wasn’t Jacob.
“No, thank you.” She dipped her chin, shy in front of the stranger.
“Excuse me, but seeing Miss Hodges home will be my honor.” A different voice, a rumbling baritone familiar and beloved, brushed over her like sunshine.
Libby’s heart lifted. “Jacob.”
He smiled at her, his eyes smiling, too. The milling crowd looked small behind his solid frame. He wore his work clothes, simple black trousers and a plain blue shirt, yet a shiver started low in her belly. He looks like heaven.
“May I see you home?” He held out his hand, dependable, sturdy.
Libby placed her hand in his, accepting what little he offered her. She had to face it—dreams didn’t come true, not in this life. “Why are you here, Jacob?”
“I have my buckboard.” His eyes shadowed, hiding an emotion she feared. His gaze had slipped to her belly. “I’ll drive you home, if you don’t mind.”
She lifted her chin. Remember he isn’t yours to have. “That would be fine. This is about Emma, isn’t it?”
They skirted the edges of the crowd. Jacob kept her hand wrapped firmly within his. “Emma?”
“She ran up to me one morning last week. I wasn’t sure if you would approve.” Libby looked down at her dusty shoes.
He halted beside the polished buckboard. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“You know. Pretty soon a lot of people are going to know.”
“I suppose.” Jacob glanced down the street. “Maybe a lot of those fellows trying to court you will decide to leave you alone.”
He didn’t mean it unkindly, but the words hurt.
“I suppose you’re right.” Libby lifted her chin. “You aren’t angry with me?”
“About speaking to Emma? Of course not.” He helped her up. “She adores you. I wouldn’t want to take that away from her.”
The strength in his arms, the closeness of his chest, the rugged scent of wood smoke filled her head, igniting a sweet need inside her. A need for him.
Blushing, she straightened her skirts and waited for him to climb up beside her. Thank heavens she’d worn her apron home. The folds of soft muslin hid the small roundness her skirts did not.
Jacob remained silent as he gathered the reins in his strong hands, the thick-knuckled and capable hands of a man who worked at an honest living. Libby remembered the sight of his bare chest in the bam. She tingled at the memory.
Now he kept his gaze trained on the street ahead of them, as if ashamed of looking directly at her.
During the ride to the Faded Bloom, neither of them spoke. Libby could feel unspoken tension stretched between them, like a lull in the storm. Had he come to ask her to leave town? Would her condition be an embarrassment to him in the future?
No. Jacob wouldn’t think like that. Her throat filled. He was a man of integrity. Something she admired so much, had known so little of.
Affection flooded her like a rising river. She let the breeze brush her face and fan the tendrils that escaped her pinned braids.
Jacob halted the horses outside the boardinghouse. His gaze swept over her, measuring, thoughtful.
“I appreciate the ride,” she managed to say. Her feelings filled her words.
“Don’t go.” His free hand snared her wrist. “Please.”
Libby studied his face. As the day’s light faded from the sky, it was hard to read what brewed in his storm gray eyes. “You said you wanted to talk with me.”
“Yes.” Jacob cleared his throat. “I never should have let you come here without knowing what I expected.”
“I understand.” She did. A terrible longing swept though her. She wanted to help him, to heal the pain in his heart.
“How can you understand?” His voice sounded thick, and he looked away. “I don’t think I could have married anyone, even for Emma’s sake, even though I’m tired of being lonely. I thought I could, until I met you.”
The cool breeze puffed over her, scattering the hem of her apron and skirts.
“Will you forgive me?”
“Oh, Jacob.” Her whole heart twisted. “I never blamed you. For what it’s worth, I wanted to be your wife.”
He clenched his jaw; she saw a muscle jump along his temple.
She stared down at her hands. She wasn’t good enough for him, to replace the wife he still loved so much.
“I need a favor,” he said.
“A favor?” She looked up into eyes so troubled, so bleak, she almost cried in sympathy. “What can I do for you, Jacob? I would do anything, if I can.”
Without speaking he reached down and tugged a brownpaper-wrapped bundle from beneath the seat.
“Ellington doesn’t carry little girl’s ready-made dresses.” He spoke quietly as the fading light of the sky silhouetted him, hiding his face. “Jane used to make Emma’s clothes, but she needs something for winter. I could pay you to sew the dress for me. I’ve already purchased the fabric.”
He unwrapped the bundle. Fine flannel, Libby could tell even in the dark without touching it. She’d heard from Maude that Mrs. Holt often sewed for the more respectable people in town.
But he’d asked her.
Foolish hope beat in her heart. Be sensible, she scolded herself. He doesn’t want you. He feels sorry for you.
Yet she would help him all the same, just to be near him.
“I—I would have to measure Emma.”
Jacob’s voice smiled. “I’m sure she won’t mind.”
“It might take a while,” she hedged. “I only have time to sew in the evenings.”
“We’ll wait.” His hand caught hers as the last of the gray light faded from the wide-open sky. She could hear the sincerity in his voice.
She could hold on to him forever. Emotions twisted through her, and she felt too full to speak. “I have Sundays free. Perhaps I could measure Emma then.”
“Sounds fine to me.” Jacob moved, just a shadow in the night, to slip his hand from hers.
“Should I come out to your cabin?”
“I’ll ride out to get you,” he said, sounding distant. “Say, tomorrow at nine o’clock?”
“Yes.” Libby nodded to hide her disappointment. She had to keep her heart from caring.
Jacob Stone wasn’t hers to love. She would do best remembering that.
“Elizabeth?” His arm brushed her shoulder.
“Yes?” Libby tried to ignore the fluttering wing-beat of her heart.
In answer, his fingertips brushed her chin, lifting her face to his. No moon shone to illuminate him so she did not know what burned in his eyes, but she could sense it. He is going to kiss me. Libby held her breath, her heart hammering wildly as his lips covered hers.
Chapter Seven
The tentative brush of his lips captivated her. Gentle. Touching. Her eyes teared at the tenderness.
Then his kiss deepened, becoming possessive, passionate. His broad hand slipped down her throat, trailing over the rise of her breast, hesitating there to cup her wonderingly before his palm spanned the bulge of her belly.
She broke away breathless, shame heating her face.
“Tell me what happened,” he whispered, his mouth so close his lips brushed hers when he spoke.
Libby pressed her face against his throat, smelling the salty scent of his skin and the wood smoke and sweet hay clinging to his shirt. Good, comforting scents. Unshed tears burned in her eyes.
How could she tell him the truth?
Jacob gazed out into the night. “Could we go inside?”
“Maude doesn’t allow gentlemen into the house after eight o’clock.”
“Oh.” He looked down at his right hand. His fingers tingled from touching her small wrist, his mouth buzzed from kissing her, his heart hammered like a tightly wound clock. “I know where we can go.”
Nerves twisted in his stomach as he gathered up the leather reins. His palms felt clammy. His heart thundered. What did he think he was doing? Getting in over his head, that’s what. And that was some place he didn’t belong. Hell, before Elizabeth he hadn’t really kissed a woman in nearly seven years—and she had been his wife.
But he chirruped to the horses and guided them down Clinton and across Main. Darkness hugged the street where closed shops stood silent for the night, upstairs lamps burned behind curtained windows.
When he was near Elizabeth, the numbing pain in his heart eased. Looking at Emma, talking to her, made him remember the woman who birthed her, but Elizabeth...she made heat burn, in his veins and his nerve endings crackle. She stirred up his feelings. She made him act impulsively. Just like that kiss.
Jacob held his breath. He wanted to kiss her again.
With gentle pressure on the reins, he brought the bays to a halt behind the stable. The horses snorted, knowing oats were waiting. He didn’t meet Elizabeth’s eyes as he helped her down.
Her skirts rustled. Her hand felt small in his. She smelled faintly of rose water.
Like a kick to his gut, he reacted. The way a man reacts to a woman. Old, sweet feelings filtered through his heart. He wanted to run. He wanted to stay.
Jacob held open the stable door for her and closed it behind them. The comforting barn smells of sweet hay and heated horseflesh lifted some of the fear from his heart.
“Oh!” Elizabeth gasped in the dimness.
Jacob caught her by the elbow, then spotted the familiar nose, chuckled. “She’s a wily one.”
“She’s got my apron ruffle in her teeth,” Libby said quietly, a little nervous, a little amused.
“She doesn’t normally like strangers.” Jacob knelt down and ran his hand along the mare’s jaw. The teeth relaxed, the ruffle slipped free unharmed, and the horse rolled her head upward for a good scratching.
“You have a gentle way with animals.”
“I’ve been around horses all my life.” He closed his mind against the remembrances of his father’s farm in Kentucky and the horses he raised there. Some things hurt too much to think about.
“I’ve never been around them.” She sounded wistful. “I think horses are beautiful.”
Jacob stood. “I bought this mare from a miner who’d beaten her near to death because she was too exhausted to pull his cart up the last hill into town.”
Elizabeth’s face pinched in sorrow. “She looks recovered. It must be due to your gentle ways.”
“The secret is fine oats.” He shrugged off her compliment like water. He grabbed up the lantern from its nail in the wall. “I always have a supply of horses to sell, but I’m keeping this mare for someone special. I didn’t put so much work into her just to have some rough miner abuse her again.”
Jacob watched the nameless mare nudge Elizabeth’s hand. That horse was no fool. She knew a kind heart at first sight.
As he lit the lamp, snuffing out the match carefully and dropping it in water, he didn’t tell her his real feelings. How long could he live like a hermit? Going through the motions, working, providing for Emma and keeping his heart buried? As lantern light danced across the doe-eyed mare and Elizabeth, who was tentatively stroking the horse’s nose, his gut clenched with a dead-on certainty.
Just being near her made him feel alive. To ache for joy and the silken touch of her hair and the heat of her kiss. Maybe he could do it. Move past his fear.
It was time to start living again.
“I have a place out back,” he said finally, starting toward the back door. “It’s private and quiet. We can be alone there.”
A place out back Memories beat in her heart—ones of shame and humiliation. Her knees turned wobbly, but she managed to follow Jacob through the bam and outside to the small shanty. Just as his cabin had been, this structure was well-built and battened against the most fierce winds.
He isn’t going to understand. Her heart beat with the certainty. A man wouldn’t understand. Men weren’t as vulnerable, as powerless.
He unlocked the door, and the doorknob squeaked, the noise grating along her spine. The lantern’s glow revealed a single room with a stove along one wall. One curtained window graced the wall next to the door.
Libby noted the layer of dust coating the bare wood floors to the black stove and emphasizing the tiny house’s lack of use. Cobwebs shivered on the wooden table and chairs in the corner and on the carved bed frame tucked against the farthest wall.
Jacob unfolded the clean cloth he’d grabbed from the stable and began dusting the small table. “I bring in supplies toward the beginning of next month. Blizzards come as early as October around here, and I like to be stocked up. Last winter I spent three days holed up in here, unable to get back home. I was grateful for a supply of food. I doubt I would have been able to make it across the street to the diner.”
He stared at her, and Libby’s insides coiled.
“We can talk here, Elizabeth. No one can hear us.” He held out his hand. “Come sit with me.”
Such gentle hands. Gentle enough never to hurt her.
She slipped her palm against his. His big fingers caught hers, easing her toward him. She settled down on the nearby chair, so close her thigh brushed his.
Fire. Desire like flames raged through her, obliterating her common sense. She’d never known the power of such feelings. In the webby light she could see the need in his eyes. The need for a woman and the need to forget, for just a moment, the pain of life.
She knew what he wanted. Love. Physical comfort. Her hand trembled as she reached out to touch his cheek. His jaw felt slightly rough, a wonderful man’s texture against her fingertips.
“I’m sorry I rejected you the way I have, at how I’ve been treating you.” Jacob tensed his jaw, gazing at her hair. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Libby looked into gray eyes filled with pain and immeasurable sorrow. She felt it as surely as heat from a red-hot stove. But how to comfort him? She longed to hold him, to find a way to heal his pain. Would he let her? “You didn’t hurt me, Jacob.”
“Yes, I did.” He leaned both elbows on the table and covered his face with his hands. “I swore I’d never care about a woman again. I couldn’t survive that happening to me twice.”
“I understand. It’s an honorable man who can love someone so deeply.”
He didn�
�t answer.
If only he would love her like that, Libby wished. She knew better than to hold her breath.
“I thought marriage would solve my problems with Emma. I thought I might be able to find someone to exist with, share the same house but not the same bed.”
Jacob knew it would be wiser to keep silent, to keep from sharing so much. But when he looked up, Elizabeth’s eyes glistened with need, and he felt driven to protect her, to make amends for what he’d done.
“One look at you, wearing that green-striped dress and straw bonnet, and I knew I’d made a mistake. You were so much more than I expected, than what I wanted. I knew you’d come to find a real home and a family.”
She stared down at her hands folded in her lap. Jacob couldn’t tell if the frown on her face meant how she felt about him, but he suspected he knew. She didn’t understand. She’d never lost every piece of her heart.
“Tell me what happened,” he invited. “I need to know.”
The lantern light brushed her face in gentle strokes, and the warmth drained from her eyes. “I can’t. I just can’t.”
Shame shivered in her words.
Jacob’s conscience squeezed. “You are safe here, Elizabeth. Before I make any decisions, we need to talk about your baby.”
Silence filled the small shanty except for her strangled sigh.
She won’t tell me, Jacob thought angrily, then stopped. Maybe it was his fault. Maybe she couldn’t trust him enough to tell him the truth. He’d certainly given her little reason to.
Lantern light cascaded over her, caressing her honeyed hair the way his fingers ached to. She’s a fine woman, he reminded himself. He wanted to believe in her, to accept her. For Emma’s sake. For his own.
“Can you feel the baby move?” he asked to counter her silence.
“No, it’s too soon.” Her voice sounded so fragile.
His gaze fell to her belly. She wasn’t so large yet or cumbersome, the life inside still small so her stomach curved like a soup bowl beneath the gathered waistband of her pleated apron.
“You can trust me, Elizabeth.”
Her bottom lip quivered. She tucked it between her teeth. The sight teased him. Made him want to lean closer and kiss her hard, with all his need.
